The Tempest

Mir. If by your art, my dearest father, you have

Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.

The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,

But that the sea, mounting to the welkin’s cheek,

5 Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer’d

With those that I saw suffer! a brave vessel,

Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,

Dash’d all to pieces. O, the cry did knock

Against my very heart! Poor souls, they perish’d!

Have sunk the sea within the earth, or ere

It should the good ship so have swallow’d and

No more amazement: tell your piteous heart

I have done nothing but in care of thee,

Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who

Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing

Of whence I am, nor that I am more better

20 Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,

I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,

And pluck my magic garment from me.—So: Lays down his mantle.

I. 2. 25 Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.

The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch’d

So safely order’d, that there is no soul,

Which thou heard’st cry, which thou saw’st sink. Sit down;

Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp’d,

The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;

Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember

40 I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not

Pros. By what? by any other house or person?

45 And rather like a dream than an assurance

Pros. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it

That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else